


Forelsket

by Elmyth



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, One Shot, One Shot Collection, POV Solas, or the beginnings of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 04:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8357539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elmyth/pseuds/Elmyth
Summary: Forelsket: (Norwegian): The euphoria you experience when you're first falling in love.





	

The group had been walking for days; having defeated demons in the area and closed the remaining rifts, they marched back towards their main camp where they would find Inquisition horses to carry their weary bodies back to Haven. Sore feet, aching backs and grumbling stomachs had urged them to stop sometime around midday, when the sun was high in the sky and brought its utmost heat down upon them. They walked following the river, its water crystal clear and sparkling in the sunlight. The Herald had been the one to suggest they make a camp early, after they had found the perfect, or perhaps most convenient spot. The others wouldn’t admit to needing the rest as much as she did, but they certainly didn’t object, dropping their packs onto the bank with groans of relief.  
After a moment of peace, lying in the grass, Blackwall turned his attention to the water.  
‘Would have been nice if we had some line, now that we’ve got the time to fish.’  
Solas hummed in agreeance, ‘I wouldn’t have objected to eating something other than… these.’ He turned the hard bread-like food over in his hands distastefully. The group had unpacked their dwindling rations to share around. He passed it to the Herald wordlessly.  
‘What are they called anyway? I always end up with a bunch of them at the end of the trip.’ Varric shook his rucksack out, the same bread tumbling out onto the grass.  
‘They’re rock cakes,’ the Herald offered, tucking hair behind pointed ears before crumbling Solas’ cake in her hands to make it easier to eat. ‘I like them.’  
‘Of course you do. You’re almost as bad as Sera,’ Blackwall said. ‘The two of you are the only ones I’ve seen put those things away without a grimace. With gusto even.’  
The elf grinned, almost seeming proud of the comparison and dusted her crumbed hands onto the grass. Varric stood and made his way to the water, tossing a rock cake up in his hand.  
‘Let’s see if they live up to their name.’ With a curved arm, he tossed the cake into the river. It skipped over the calm water twice before disappearing with a soft ‘plop’.  
The three men chuckled lightly but the Herald was silent, enraptured. Varric spent the next half an hour teaching her the art that was skipping stones while Solas and Blackwall sat further up the bank. Soon, Blackwall had dozed off, his hands resting behind his head and snoring lightly. Solas continued to watch the pair as they scoured the edge of the water for the ideal pebbles. Listened to her musical laugh when she finally skipped her own rock. Smiled when she bombarded the rogue with a hundred questions, detailing the significance of stone tossing in Dwarven culture and its possible origins. He refrained from his usual elaborate explanations this time, telling her it was a children’s game. She seemed content with the answer all the same.  
Varric called her _Twinkle Toes_. Solas assumed this was due to her gracefulness when she fought, the apparent ease with which she danced around her opponents. Or perhaps because of the time she had tripped and stumbled down the hillock in the Hinterlands. Blackwall simply called her _Herald_ but Solas noticed when they spoke at night around the fire when they thought the others were asleep he sometimes called her _pet_. Solas, he called her _Da’len_. He was fond of her given name, _Selora_ , but it felt too personal to use. And he found himself enjoying too much the way her smile widened when he occasionally used it.  
Without meaning to, he found himself enjoying a great many things about her.  
The pair returned, mentioning they could see a small hut down the river and on the other side of the bank. Lavellan roused Blackwall gently, suggesting they take a look in case there was anything they could use to catch fish. The offer extended to Solas, with a smile, but he declined. After all, he needed to clear his head.  
When the two had returned a short time later, net in hand, Lavellan instructed them on how to set up the net. ‘This is how the Dalish do it,’ she had said simply. Blackwall and Varric stretched the net over the narrowest section of the river, staking it into the soft riverbed and the bank, and creating a barrier. They were to hold the other end of the net low in the water. Solas and Selora would then go further upstream, channeling the fish down until they swam over the net, which the other two would then pull up to trap them.  
Satisfied with the position of the net, Selora led the apostate up the river where it curved and they were out of view.  
‘Have you done this before, with your clan?’  
‘Not exactly. Fishing was never one of my duties, but I have watched it being done,’ she paused thoughtfully, unlacing her boots. ‘It looked simple enough.’  
With most of their outer garments removed to keep the water from damaging them, Solas entered the river first, his gaze fixed keenly on the water to keep it from wandering to her. The river was slow moving and plentiful, fish visible swimming lazily with the current through the crystal water.  
‘You can use magic to guide the fish, though nothing electric. We want to fry the fish later, not ourselves.’  
‘Noted.’ The water leveled just below his waist and he supposed it would only be a few inches higher on the Selora, her height not quite matching his own. He heard her slip almost soundlessly in the water, as graceful as ever, before there was a loud splashing and droplets of water sprayed his back.  
‘What are you doing?’ He balked, turning to face her.  
Selora ceased her splashing, returning his gaze with wide eyes and an almost innocent expression.  
‘Scaring the fish?’  
Unable to contain himself, Solas laughed, his eyes closed and clutching his sides, until a jet of water silenced him. Selora stood in front of him, hands clasped lightly together in the water, donning a mischievous expression. Solas moved to advance on her, but she squeezed her hands together, sending another stream of water into his face.  
She chuckled at his shocked expression, water dripping from his chin and onto his shirt. Sweeping his hand over the surface of the water, Solas used his magic to gather it and let the collection drop over the Herald’s head.  
The reaction it produced was not what he had hoped for, as she spluttered against the sudden onslaught of water, and he silently cursed himself for being so careless. Her sudden laughter soothed his worries instantly and he waded to her, taking her face in his hands and brushing wet hair from her eyes.  
‘I apologise. Perhaps that was too much.’  
Her laughter subsided and a faint blush crept into her cheeks. He still held her face, anchoring them to the spot and he was acutely aware of the closeness of their bodies, the heat emanating through such thin layers of clothing. His gaze trailed down to her lips which parted ever so slightly and he wondered how it would feel to press his own against them, what she would do if he were to lean down and collect the droplet of water that had gathered there with his tongue. _No_ , he thought, _I shouldn’t_. Instead, against his better judgement, he ran his thumb over the flesh of her bottom lip, gathering the droplet. He saw, rather than heard, her draw in a sharp breath and the rose in her cheeks darkened.  
Sensing his hesitation, Selora raised her hands from the water and placed them on his waist. ‘Solas…’  
A sudden call from downstream interrupted them and Solas took the opportunity to drop his hands and take a step back to regain some of his wavering self-control.  
‘What are you two doing? The fish will be dead from old age before we manage to catch any!’ Varric’s voice bellowed from out of sight.  
‘We’re coming!’ Selora called back to them, before turning back to the elf. ‘Solas…’  
Solas dipped his fingertips into the water, sending a pulse of magic that drove the fish forward. In a matter of seconds, the two were completely alone.  
‘We should move along, Da’len. We have a feast to cook.’

The four companions sat around the campfire, drowsy from the day and from full bellies. They gathered close to the fire, the heat from the day had disappeared as the sun dropped leaving the night air crisp with cold. Solas and the Herald had set up the tents earlier, silent, though the mage could see her eyes flick to him every so often, mouth opening as if she wanted to speak, only to close it again. As they chatted idly, Varric stretched and huffed a great breath.  
‘Think I better hit the hay.’ He stood and made his way over to one of the tents. There was no _official_ sleeping arrangements. Generally, the first two to head to bed shared a tent so as not to be disturbed if the others came in later.  
Blackwall yawned next and would have moved to follow the dwarf, had Solas not shot up from his log and mumbling something about getting an early start, strode after him.  
Of all the expeditions they had completed, Solas had shared lodgings with the Herald numerous times without issue. In fact, he preferred such an arrangement. The other companions were not nearly as amicable roommates; Varric and Blackwall snored so loudly it was a disruption even when _not_ bunking with them, Iron Bull had a tendency to roll onto you as he slept and Sera tossed and fidgeted so much in her sleep that anyone who shared with her was likely to end up bruised. The others were less disruptive, but being used to sleeping alone Solas still wasn’t entirely comfortable sharing a small space with them. And not that he would even admit it, but Solas found sleeping beside Selora peaceful. He tried not to think about the way she sometimes huddled beside him for warmth as she slept and the soft press of her cheek against his shoulder, as he laid in his bedroll beside an already snoring Varric. Usually, he let himself indulge in her presence as she slept soundly beside him and by the morning he could scrub away the expression of fondness, the unexpected feeling of closeness, for she would not be able to hear the hammering of his heart to betray him. After today however, he did not trust himself or his self-control, and knew that if she turned to him in the middle of the night to seek out his warmth, he would welcome her into his embrace and _that_ would be a slippery slope indeed.

**Author's Note:**

> A little snapshot of my inquisitor and Solas, pre-relationship.


End file.
